


So Shoot Me

by killyhawk



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 02:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 5,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16924698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killyhawk/pseuds/killyhawk
Summary: A collection of Shoot drabbles.





	1. Chapter 1

Twenty-four hours, and already Shaw was sick of being sick.  A little cough wouldn’t be so bad, but these weren’t even  _productive_  coughs… just the kind that tickle your throat with every inhale, leaving you stuck in a loop of fruitless hacking.  Even now she found herself doubled over a keyboard, her cough crackling and ugly.

“Really, Ms. Shaw, can’t you go home and cough on your  _own_ electronics?” Harold asked from a nearby work table.

“I told you, I would, Finch, but my apartment’s being fumigated,” Shaw responded somewhat hoarsely, trying to fight off the next bout.  A screen in front of her displayed video footage of their latest number.  "At least I can be of some help here.“

"If you say so,” Finch murmured from his chair, and turned back to whatever he was doing.

“Just… don’t mention it to Root, okay?  She’ll…”  Shaw gestured vaguely at herself.  "…be all over me.“

Harold wasn’t sure exactly what she meant, but he knew well how the woman loved to dote on Shaw even when she was feeling much more capable.

A few quiet minutes passed between them (aside from Shaw’s coughing and sniffling, of course) when the tip-tap of heels on tile reached their ears.  A moment later Root came swaggering into the subway car, one hand holding a plain yellow gift bag.

"I didn’t know it was Finch’s birthday,” Shaw tried to quip, but just wound up coughing.

“No, it’s yours,” Root said and plopped the bag in front of her.  Shaw looked from it to Root, obviously confused.  "A little birdy told me you were sick,“ she explained with a smile.

Shaw looked incredulous.

"Is this little birdy an all-knowing AI?”

“Well, obviously,” Root said with a roll of her eyes.  "She could tell days ago you were coming down with something.“

Shaw began tentatively rummaging through the contents of the bag, removing them one by one.  Kleenex.  Cough drops.  Chicken noodle soup.  NyQuil.

When Shaw neared the bottom of the bag she froze.  Mouth slightly agape, she turned to Root with her best "Are you serious, I might have to end you” expression.

“…That’s for later.”  Root winked conspiratorially.

Harold, very pointedly, did not look away from his laptop.

“Rest up, sweetie.”  And with that Root was already on her way out.  "Don’t work her too hard, Harry.“

"I…”  At a loss, Finch just let it go.  Fifteen feet away, Shaw popped a cough drop and acted like nothing had happened.


	2. Chapter 2

“We’re not  _dating_ ,” Shaw growled around a mouthful of tri-tip.

“You bring her food,” Reese said, gesturing at her plate as though it were the perfect argument.  "You never bring  _me_  food.“  He tried to sound hurt, but his tone was too playful.

”‘Cause it’s the only time I see 'er  _eat_ ,“ Shaw shot back before attacking her sandwich again.

"So you admit you care.”

Shaw chewed silently and responded with a death glare.

"And what about my cuffs?” Fusco asked, sitting just left of Reese.  "I know you took 'em.“  He pointed a stubby finger at her accusingly.

Shaw wiped some mustard off her face with the back of a hand and started, "That was—”  Fusco raised both his hands, stopping her.

“'Ey, I don’t need to know what they were for, okay?”

Shaw rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Before Reese could bring up his next point, Root herself came sweeping into the diner, clearly in a good mood.

"Hey, sweetie,” came her chirpy greeting.  Root ran a hand lightly across Shaw’s shoulders before taking the seat next to her.  She glanced at Reese and Fusco.  "Hey, fellas.“

Reese crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, eyes on Shaw.  His brows were arched in victory.

Shaw just glowered at him, even though she knew at that very moment Root was smiling at her in adoration.


	3. Chapter 3

A familiar, rhythmic knock at the door made Shaw’s chopsticks pause halfway to her mouth.  Bear, laying nearby, got up and barked an alert.

“ _Blijf_ ,” Shaw told him, and he obediently sat and waited.  She walked over to the door and peered through the peephole to be sure of her visitor.  As expected, Root was on the other side, already smirking at her.

Shaw unlocked the door and opened it without returning the look.

“And where’ve you been?” she asked.

“Ontario,” Root answered, already walking past Shaw and into the loft.

“For a whole week?”  She closed the door.

“Next time I’ll be sure to send you a postcard.”

Shaw put on her classic ‘I don’t have time for this’ look and returned to her microwaved leftovers.  

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment until Shaw asked, mouth full of food, “You want some?”  Root smiled ruefully, already knowing the answer to her question.

“Got any veggie chow mein?”

Shaw chewed thoughtfully for a second, then emphasized, “ _No_.”  Root shrugged.

“I’m fine.  I’ll get something after this.”

Shaw’s eyes wandered to the chair on her right and a jacket lying there.  She snatched it up and unceremoniously tossed it to Root.

“To replace the one that got shot,” she explained.  In the aftermath, Root had seemed almost as upset about the hole in her jacket as the matching one in herself.  Shaw had secretly mourned the passing of the coat as well; it looked damn good on her.  When a similar looking one showed up at work, the decision to purchase it was easy.

Eyes alight, Root hugged it to her chest, then held the gift out to admire it, running her thumbs over the black leather.  Shaw had asked her before how it was that a vegetarian was okay wearing the stuff.  Root said it was a byproduct and thus a waste to not use it.  Shaw hadn’t argued, if only because she associated that new car smell with her now.

Apparently speechless for once, Root got up to try it on.  The fit was perfect, hugging her in all the right places.  She spread her arms and twirled once on the sole of her boot.

“How do I look?”

Shaw took another bite of orange chicken and said, “Back up some.”  Root readily did so, arms still slightly spread.  Shaw held the chopsticks to her mouth thoughtfully.  "Keep going…“  Root smiled at her, confused, but retreated another few feet.  "A little more…”  This time the back of Root’s legs bumped into Shaw’s mattress.  Her smile had a dark, knowing look now.

Shaw flicked the chopsticks at her and quirked a brow, indicating she wasn’t there yet.  

Once Root fell backwards onto the army green comforter, Shaw didn’t hesitate to put down her utensils and join her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5x6 AU where Root and Shaw have been together these past nine months instead of apart and sad.

Shaw was sitting alone at their table, trying (and failing) to not look bored out of her mind when she heard Root ask, “May I have this dance?”  She turned to find the taller woman standing just behind her, hand outstretched, her head cocked playfully.

Shaw rested her cheek on a fist and said, “You must have me mistaken for somebody else.”  Despite her protest, amusement was plain on her face.

Root just cocked her head farther and smiled bigger, refusing to yield.  Her hand didn’t waver.

Eventually Shaw sighed heavily and mumbled, “Fine,” taking Root’s hand and letting her lead them to the dance floor.  She was never going to see these people again anyway; what did she care what they thought?  Besides, Harold and John were used to their shenanigans by now.  The only thing that might surprise them was that Shaw  _agreed_ to this.

Once facing each other, Root delicately placed her black-painted fingers on Shaw’s right shoulder.  Shaw, less assuredly, settled a hand on Root’s hip.  Their free hands intertwined as they started swaying awkwardly to the sweeping orchestra and sultry voice sounding from the speakers.  There was a bit of a pained expression on Shaw’s face, but for the most part she was putting up a brave front.

Root turned her head and stared whimsically at the festivities: the bride and groom, the elegant decorations, the glowing faces.

“Do you think… maybe some day……”  Her wistful eyes turned to meet Shaw’s and quickly lowered in embarrassment.

“…that could be us?” Shaw finished with a scoff, but just as soon regretted her tone.  Her expression morphed into something more teasing and less judgmental for Root’s sake.

Root lifted her gaze and smirked.

“Just think: Bear could be the  _ring-Bear_.”

“God knows I’ll do anything for the sake of a good pun,” Shaw muttered sarcastically.  She gave Root a bit of a sidelong glance, trying to gauge how serious the other woman was, and just how she was supposed to react.

“Sorry,” Root mumbled and shook her head.  "Watching the ceremony brought out some girly feelings I didn’t even know I had.“

"It’s okay,” Shaw assured her.  "Just… I might need a raincheck… a few hundred of ‘em.“  But Shaw was genuinely smiling at her, and the sight made Root’s head spin more than the whiskey.

"It’s okay, sweetie.  I bet even this-,” indicating their dancing, “-comes at a cost.”  Shaw’s eyes lit up.

“How about you give me a ride on that horse?  It’s not fair that you’d gallop into the sunset with some other woman.”

Root leaned in closer and whispered, “Oh, there’ll be  _plenty_  of riding later tonight.”


	5. Chapter 5

Wordlessly, Shaw opened the door for Root then immediately went back to whatever she had been doing.  Root glanced about the loft, trying to piece the scene together: Dirty dishes stacked in the sink, a pile of clothes in one corner, and a black garbage bag (half full) on the floor near the sofa.  Shaw was wearing jeans and a simple gray tank top, which implied she wasn’t leaving any time soon.

“What'cha doin’?” Root asked brightly.

“Cleaning,” Shaw replied from a kneeling position, her actions obscured by the sofa.  "You here to help?“  The question was a joke, as Root’s visit had (as usual) been unannounced.

"Wellll, I do like it when you talk dirty to me…” Root mused, hands linked behind her back.

“It’s just like that,” came the deadpan reply as Shaw threw away a couple empty take-out containers.

“What can I do?”

“Just throw away any trash.”

When Shaw got up from the floor, Root materialized in front of her, inches away, and slipped her hands into Shaw’s back pockets.  

Shaw looked up at her, annoyance flashing in her dark eyes, and asked, “And what are you doing?”

Root squeezed.

“Checking for receipts…?”  She fought back a smile and failed.  “You don’t want to put those through the washer.”

Without breaking eye contact, Shaw reached behind her, grabbed Root’s wrists and returned the other woman’s hands to her sides.

“How about you do some dishes instead?” Shaw asked gruffly.

“Sure thing, sweetie.”  On her way to the kitchen Root bumped a beer bottle on the floor, sending it rolling under the sofa.

“Dammit, Root…” Shaw grumbled and got on her knees, reaching an arm out in search of the missing bottle.  Root just stood there, enjoying the view with a satisfied smirk on her face.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after 5x9 "Sotto Voce."

You know it’s your Root (the real Root) when she clings to you so desperately there in the park, torn between laughing and crying.  You knew she cared about you… never doubted that she hadn’t given up on finding you… but out of thousands of simulations, never did she respond so viscerally upon seeing you again.  The slight hysteria in her voice is like a punch to the gut.  She envelops you, surrounds you with her love, and you’re left dumbstruck.

You know it’s your Root when she pulls the gun on herself.  Of course.  Neither you nor Samaritan fathomed the lengths to which she’d go to keep you.  You couldn’t have predicted such chaotic, reckless action.  It’s an anomaly that makes the earth under your feet more solid, the gun in your own hand more substantial.  You’re not used to feeling afraid, but when the barrel twitches under her chin you flinch, beg her to put it down.  The Root in your mind watched you kill yourself time and time again, shocked and helpless, but the real Root is not helpless.  How could you have underestimated her like that?  You slowly lower the gun and realize you can feel the cool night air in your lungs.

You know it’s your Root when she holds you all night, an arm protectively around your waist.  She saw the storm in your eyes and made no move at romance, but just comforted you with her warmth, her presence, her gentle reassurances.  Her steady breathing against the back of your neck lulls you into the first peaceful sleep you’ve had in a very long time.

You know it’s your Root when she decides the middle of a shoot-out is a good time to discuss “your thing.”  She wanes all philosophical between shots about reality essentially being its own simulation, how you’re nothing firm, fingers tracing a line in the infinite…  The Root in your subconscious never said anything approaching this, because it wasn’t something you’d dream up.  It was Root.  Only Root.  You smile at the thought of your being the essence of a dynamic… two parts of a violent symphony.  What could be better?

You know it’s your Root when the call comes, because never, in your wildest dreams, would she leave you.


	7. Chapter 7

“She had a whole  _closet_  full of shoes; I’m not even kidding,” Fusco said, describing last night’s date.  "She even had pouches hanging on the inside of the door for the overflow!“

"Sounds like Shaw,” Reese said after a sip of his manhattan.  Fusco furrowed his brow in disbelief.  Shaw gave him a similar look over the rim of her pint glass.  "…except substitute the shoes for guns, and the closet for her fridge.“

"Hmph.  Sounds about right,” Fusco mumbled.  He peered past Reese to Shaw.  "How many shoes  _you_  own, Miss Congeniality?“

Shaw took a sizable swig of her drink.

"Enough,” came her succinct reply.

“And believe me, they’re their own arsenal,” Reese added with a smirk.  Fusco snorted.

“Shaw could kill a man with a look, never mind a three inch heel,” he agreed.  Shaw rolled her eyes, but the boys were spared a retort when her phone vibrated in her jacket pocket.  She pulled it out, expecting a message from Finch, but he wasn’t the one listed in her contacts as ‘Pain in the Ass.’  Shaw had set the name ages ago and never bothered to change it.

The message was just a picture: A close-up of her bed with a black hood and white zip ties lying on it, and a big red apple thrown in for good measure.  Shaw’s eyes widened imperceptibly.

She looked up from her phone, slipped it back in a pocket, and said, “Gotta go.”  She pushed her chair back from the bar and finished the last of her beer in a few gulps.  "This one’s on you, right?“  She threw Reese a smile.

"What’s up?” he asked.

“Something I gotta do at home,” Shaw said, then immediately regretted her wording.  Her jaw clenched, hard.

Reese and Fusco exchanged a look.

“Tell her we said hi,” Reese said with a surprisingly straight face.  

The smug bastard.

Shaw scowled and smacked a few bills onto the bar.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said evenly before storming out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I caved and wrote a little fix it fic.

You aren’t thinking about anything in particular when the payphone rings.  You’ve survived this last week by flying on autopilot - more than you normally do, anyway.  You note that the sky is overcast, the air is cold, your beanie is warm, the leash in your hand is taut as Bear explores the sidewalk ahead of you.  You don’t think about what you’ve lost; you know it’s wrong not to, but your brain isn’t wired for grief.  You picture their faces and get ghosts of feelings, but the more you concentrate on what you  _should_  be feeling, the angrier you get.  And you don’t want to be angry.  You want them to stay, unchanged and safe, in your mind forever.

You’re considering what’s for lunch when the ringing cuts through the air, harsh and loud.  A few people glance towards the phone, but only you stop dead in your tracks, letting the masses flow around you.  You stare in disbelief, because you never thought you’d hear that sound again.  How can the Machine solicit you now that you’re all alone?  Can’t it let you be?

There’s that anger again.

For a moment you consider continuing on your way and letting the call run its course.  That part of your life is over.  It’s the best you’ve ever known, and it’s over.  You’ve more than earned your retirement.  Your grip on the leash tightens at the thought.

But then you think about Root: her devotion to the Machine, and how this ASI is about your only connection to her now.  You know what she would want you to do, and you have to admit, you’re curious despite yourself.

Leash still in hand, you pick up the receiver in your left and bring it to your ear.  What you hear just about stops your heart.

“ _Hey, sweetie_.”

It can’t be.

“Root?”

Silence greets you.  You try again, heart hammering now.

“ _Root?_ “

Bear whines next to you, and suddenly you feel goosebumps all over.  You turn (slowly, cautiously, not daring to hope) and there she is.  The receiver slips wordlessly from your hand.

Her chin is slightly tucked, her head cocked, and her smile soft and apologetic.  She’s watching for your reaction.

Your mouth hangs open as your eyes take her in.  All the thoughts running through your mind blend into white noise.  You can’t process any of this quickly enough.

So she makes the first move: Root closes the gap, grabbing your arms and pushing you uncomfortably against the payphone.  She closes her eyes and gives you the most eloquent kiss you’ve ever received.  She doesn’t need to explain.  You only care that she’s here now.

You melt into her kiss, shrugging your arms loose so you can touch her face and feel that she’s real.  Her skin’s cold, and it’s the truest thing you’ve ever felt.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw, Root, and Reese play Settlers of Catan.

Shaw was visibly smiling as she upgraded her third blue settlement on the board into a city.  Reese sighed and took another swallow of beer.

“And that’s how it’s done, ladies and gents,” she congratulated herself.

Root and Reese exchanged a long-suffering look.

“Don’t worry,” she added with a haughty smirk.  "I’m sure you guys’ll catch up.“

"Oh, bet on it,” Root murmured as she looked over her own hand.  They’d been playing on the floor of the subway for about twenty-five minutes now, Shaw talking a big game the whole time.  She was, in fact, ahead by a point.

“Hey, Reese, I’ll trade you two sheep for ore,” Shaw offered.

“Nope.  You’ll have to find another sucker.”

“Root?”

“I don’t need any sheep.”

“Aww come on, that’s all I got.”

“Then what you got ain’t good enough.”  Root pointedly looked her up and down.  Shaw frowned, but then something occurred to her.

“How about two sheep  _and_  I’ll do that thing?” Shaw countered.

“What thing?”  She had her attention now.

Shaw smiled suggestively.

“You know.”  She paused for dramatic effect, wiggled her eyebrows.  "That  _thing_  you’ve been wanting.“

Reese slowly looked up from his cards, the hint of a smile on his lips.

"No cheating, ladies,” he warned them.

But Root was already smiling back.

“You drive a hard bargain, but okay,” she said, her voice having taken on a sultry tone.

“Don’t let her win,” Reese said in mock outrage.

“It was a deal I couldn’t pass up,” she replied, clearly delighting in making Reese uncomfortable… well, as amused as he was uncomfortable.

It was Root’s turn next.  She rolled the dice on the subway platform and got snake eyes, which only yielded wood for Reese.

“You got wood for sheep?” Root asked completely straight-faced.  Like every time before, Shaw snickered.

Reese smiled wryly and shook his head.

“How about you, Sameen?  I need wood.”

Shaw pursed her lips in thought.

“I’ll give you wood for two clay.”

Root sighed and looked at her hand.  A moment later she looked up again, smirking.

“How about  _one_  clay aaand…”  She scooted over and whispered something in Sameen’s ear.  The latter’s face broke out in a devious smile, eyes twinkling.

“Yeah, okay,” she agreed and readily traded.

Reese sighed heavily, less amused now.

“You guys, the rules don’t say anything about exchanging…  _favors_ … in lieu of cards.”

“You’re just upset ‘cause we’re winning,” Root said with a shrug of one shoulder.

“I hope you two enjoy yourselves, 'cause it’s the last time we’re playing.”  Reese rolled despite his complaints.  An eight.  Everyone got some resources and Reese was able to secure a three-for-one port, which he immediately used to build another road.

Shaw rolled a seven, giving her control of the dreaded Robber piece.  Root looked alarmed, Reese looked bored.  The Robber made its way over to a hexagon the two shared… hovered there.

“Wait!” Root cried.  She leaned in, practically nose to nose with Shaw, and flicked her eyes downward.  "Believe me…“  Her eyes met Shaw’s.  ”…you don’t want to do that.“

"Oh yeah?”  Shaw looked open to suggestions.

“Yeah.  I had plans for tonight, but I could always… make other ones.”  That sly smirk again.

“I dunno,” Shaw mused.  "I’m about to win this game, so you’ll have to do some convincing.“  But her voice had dropped an octave, too.

Next thing any of them knew, Root pounced Shaw and the two started making out obnoxiously on the hard floor: Robber forgotten, board pieces scattered.

Reese dropped his cards in exasperation and stood.

"I fold.”


	10. Chapter 10

“ _Sameeeen_ , can we get a lava lamp?” Root asked sweetly, looking up from her laptop. **  
**

Damn.  Usually she had to _work_  to get this kind of reaction from Shaw.  The shorter woman turned slowly from the television with brows arched, looking vaguely horrified.

“Root,” she said urgently.  “What year is it?”  She raised a hand with her thumb tucked.  “How many fingers am I holding?”

Root’s bemused expression soon turned into a frown.

“Hah hah,” she said dryly, turning back to her screen.

“No, seriously.”  Shaw had an amused smirk on her face.  “You’re about thirty years too late.  Next you’ll be telling me you found a really  _bitchin’_  pair of bell bottoms.”

“Hey, the 70s called,” Root shot back.  “They said you’re an asshole.”

Shaw just smiled as she took a swig of her beer.

“Of course you can get a lava lamp,” she said, sounding more conciliatory.  “Just… not purple please.  We all know you’re gay; you don’t have to drown our apartment in it.”

Root beamed.  A few clicks later and there was a white and blue model in her shopping cart.


	11. Chapter 11

Shaw opened the door to her apartment, not at all surprised to find Root already there, sprawled out on the couch and staring at the ceiling.  She wasn’t big on daydreaming, which probably meant Root had been talking to a certain robot overlord while she waited. **  
**

As Shaw tossed her keys on the kitchen counter she couldn’t help but notice a heart-shaped box sitting there, red ribbon and all.

“You didn’t go Valentine’s Day shopping, did you?  You know I don’t celebrate.”

“I don’t, either,” Root replied casually.  “But I didn’t think you’d turn down chocolate.”

Shaw just narrowed her eyes and continued into the apartment.  Once she circled the couch she could see the coffee table now sported a bottle of red wine, also unopened.

“And the wine?”

“It’s just Two Buck Chuck.  Don’t get all excited.”

Shaw frowned but decided to let it go, instead heading for her bedroom to change.  A moment later she reappeared in the doorway—a pair of red fuzzy handcuffs dangling like a question from her finger.  She quirked a brow accusingly.

“What, does a girl need a  _reason_  to get her girlfriend some handcuffs that won’t chafe?”

Shaw rolled her eyes.  This is what she got for dating a romantic.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate version of events set post 5x8, "Reassortment."

Shaw hadn’t moved for nearly an hour, but remained huddled against the wall, knees hugged to her chest, face lowered.  She wouldn’t respond to anyone, whether it was John’s gentle inquiries, Harold’s profferring of food, or Root’s hand on her leg.  Eventually the boys needed to leave to investigate a new number, and though John was loathe to leave Root alone with such an unknown quantity (how it pained him to think of his sister that way), Root assured him that this might be for the best.  She hoped Shaw would have an easier time opening up to one person as opposed to the whole team, and they all knew Root was the best candidate.

Root sat cross-legged on the cold floor next to Shaw and listened as the boys’ footsteps faded up the stairwell.  Once again she placed a hand on Shaw’s knee and squeezed it reassuringly.  She was rewarded with Shaw mumbling something into her lap.

“What was that, sweetie?” she urged gently.

Shaw slowly raised her head, her bloodshot eyes flicking to Root for a moment before looking vacantly past her.

“How… how do I know any of this is real?”  Her words were hesitant, almost slurred.

Fear seized Root’s chest when she heard the sincerity in Shaw’s voice.  Her eyes widened and her grip on Shaw’s leg relaxed in shock.  She took a deep, shaky breath before responding.

“What do you mean?”

Shaw’s eyes drifted to Root, but they still weren’t focused on anything.

“How do I know this isn’t another simulation?”  Her brows came together in a slight frown of puzzlement.

“Simulation…?”  Root felt bad for parroting her, but it was all she could manage as she tried to wrap her head around the question.

“I was their guinea pig,” Shaw continued.  "I… I think I killed someone…  I shot Reese…“  Root shook her head furiously and tried to fight back the rising panic.

"No.  No you didn’t.  Reese is fine.  He was just here, remember?”  Instinctively she reached out and ever so gently stroked Sameen’s jawline.  Shaw met her eyes then, looking at her quizzically.

“You’re real,” she said, but it was phrased more like a question.

“Who else would’ve sent you the message ‘four alarm fire’?”  Root tried to smirk, but the light didn’t reach her eyes.

Shaw looked away and said, “They took pieces of my memory… misshaped them…”

Root wanted to scream - not at Sameen, but at the people who would dare take something so precious between them and mar it like this.  She wanted to throw chairs… break something… some _one_.

Instead she willed her quivering muscles to still and took Sameen’s face in her hands, leaned in, and kissed her tenderly on the lips.  When she pulled back, Shaw smirked darkly at her, brow quirked.

“Your simulation was a good kisser, too.”

Root could feel tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.  She dug her fingertips into Shaw’s scalp and stared her down.

“You’re real to me, okay?” she hissed.  Her voice was shaking, her hands trembling on either side of Sameen’s head.  She didn’t care.  "I don’t know what I am to you anymore, but you’re real to  _me_.  Doesn’t that count for  _something_?“

Shaw’s eyes widened and some of the haze cleared away.  For the first time since their exchange started, Root felt like Shaw was really seeing her.  Her chapped lips parted.

"Root…”

The tears were flowing down her cheeks now, but she smiled, big and genuine.

Shaw pushed forward and hungrily kissed her back.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw and Root make a bet.

“Come on!” Shaw barked at the television.  Huff had failed to make the catch and the ball was back with the Titans.  She chased her frustration with another swallow from her longneck - her sixth of the evening.  Root glanced up from the laptop she was bent over whenever Shaw berated the players, but she usually didn’t have anything to add.  They’d been situated like this for the past couple hours now: Shaw on the couch, Root cross-legged on the bed.  Hunching like that couldn’t be good for her back, but Root liked Shaw’s hard, straight-backed chairs even less.

“What are you doing over there, anyway?” Shaw asked without turning from the tv (which meant she didn’t catch Root’s patronizing smile).

“Nerd stuff,” Root replied, in a way that clearly said ‘You wouldn’t understand anyway.’

“Hah.”  The corner of Shaw’s mouth twitched upward.  "Nerd.“

A moment later Root set her computer aside and joined Shaw, sitting unnecessarily close.  She rested an elbow on the back of the couch and bent her legs under her, causing her to lean in even closer.

"Who’s winning?”

Shaw looked at her with a bland expression.

“The team with more points.”

“Hah hah,” Root said dryly and checked the score.

After another sip of beer, Shaw asked, “Do you even know the first thing about football?”  Root looked offended.

“I might even know the second and third,” she retorted.

Shaw just huffed and turned back to the game.  The Titans had settled for a field goal.

“I bet Tennessee wins this game,” Root said matter-of-factly.  Shaw nearly spat out her beer.

“Are you kidding me?  My team might suck, but the Titans suck harder.”  Root shrugged.

“How about we make it interesting?”  She smiled slyly.  "If the Titans win, we go out on a date.“

 _A date?_  What did Root call it when they worked numbers together, slept together, or hung out in Shaw’s loft like this?

"Not a "shoot 'em up” kind of date,“ Root clarified.  "I’m talking a  _real_  date: reservations, candlelight, the whole nine yards.”  She crinkled her nose.  "Maybe even a bouquet of flowers.“

Shaw looked intrigued.

"And if the Eagles win?  Which they’re going to.”

“Up to you.”

Shaw rubbed her chin and considered a moment.  When her eyes came alight with a mischievous twinkle, Root shot her a wary look.

“If I win, we’re playing dress-up,” Shaw declared.

Not exactly what Root had expected to hear.

“And that means…?”

“It means I get to pick out an outfit for you, and you have to wear it for the whole day.  No excuses.”  Root side-eyed Shaw, trying to work out why, out of all the endless possibilities, that was her choice.  When she failed to think of anything too worrisome, she relaxed and smiled.

“Deal.”

Shaw turned her attention back to the game as the Eagles neared the red zone, but then something occurred to her.  She looked at Root with narrowed eyes.

“…The Machine isn’t helping you, is She?”

Root scoffed.

“She doesn’t give a rat’s ass about sports, Sameen.  Besides, this is just a friendly bet.  Scout’s honor.”

“You were so not a girl scout,” Shaw mumbled into her bottle.  Root stayed conspicuously silent.

Shaw shouted encouragement as Matthews ran it up the middle for a touchdown, bringing the score 27 to 20.  The Titans had four minutes to answer.  Root sighed, but her expression morphed into a teasing smirk when she looked at Shaw.

“I bet you’re already undressing me in your mind.”  Shaw took another swig of beer, watching Root out of the corner of her eye.

“You know it.”

The Titans managed another field goal, but the clock was running down.  When the Eagles got into victory formation a short time later, Shaw smiled triumphantly and raised her bottle.

“Guess who’s going shopping?”

——————————–

The following morning Shaw could be found lounging in the subway car: feet propped up on an office chair, fountain drink in hand, waiting on Harold to give her further instructions.  He was at the main computer terminal researching their latest number: some higher up at the Pentagon.  It was gearing up to be an exciting day.

The tell-tale tap of boots on cement reached their ears, and a moment later Root appeared at the car’s entrance.

Shaw went still mid-sip.

The taller woman was mostly decked out in what Shaw had chosen, but had added a few embellishments of her own.   The getup amounted to knee-high black leather boots, fishnet stockings, a black miniskirt, purple corset, and elbow length fingerless gloves.  Deep plum colored lips completed the look.

“Okay, this…”  Shaw gestured at Root with her cup.  "…is hotter than I expected.“

Root tossed her hair and posed with a hand on one hip.

"Oh, Sameen.  You’ll make me blush.”

The exchange got Harold to turn away from the monitor.  He did a double-take when he saw Root.

“New identity, Ms. Groves?” he ventured.  Root looked at Shaw as she answered.

“You could say that.”

“Really, though,” Shaw said with an amused smirk.  "You should add punk goth to your wardrobe.“

"Noted.”  She turned back to Finch.  "What’s on the docket for today, Harry?“

"A Mr. Joseph Selna.  He’s one of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, in town this weekend for a black tie gala.”

“We sure this isn’t a relevant number?” asked Shaw.

“If we’re getting it, it can’t be,” Finch responded.  "But it would be wise to get as much intel as we can before the event…“  He eyed Root.  "Do you think it would be possible to switch your attire?”

Root quirked a brow at Shaw, who shook her head ever so slightly.

“Sorry, Harry.  I’m Shadow Raven today.”  She smiled apologetically.  Harold’s mouth hardened into a tight line at that, but he looked resigned.

“I guess we’ll… make it work…”

“Don’t worry, Finch.”  Shaw stood up and side-eyed Root approvingly.  "I’ll “keep an eye” on her.“  Root tried to wink subtly, but Harold was wise to their game.

"You two head towards Manhattan.  I’ll update you as to his exact location.”

“Ten-four, Finch,” Shaw said.  Harold pretended to not notice any groping as they exited the car.


End file.
